The Devil Made Me Do It

{ I have always felt that the "incest" category should have a subset of seduction/reluctance because it would be an uneasy step to take. That is where this particular story would fall. To this point, I haven't quite come to a conclusion. I'll let it rest for a while.}

It was in church when the truth of the terrible forecast hit home. Recently, the subtly salacious hints have intensified; until I now have very few moments where I'm not picturing in my crude fantasies, that each man I meet is naked with his stiff erection announcing his intentions, and I can almost feel each woman's tongue sliding along my aching clit. Sometimes I need to actually intertwine my fingers to keep from reaching for any stranger standing next to me. When those libidinal images flood my brain, I also feel the warm rush of my vaginal fluids percolating in my yearning pussy. I feel that familiar tingle that starts from somewhere deep in my uterus, then seems to travel up my spine and electrifies every nerve ending in my shivering anatomy. Then the intense heat that envelops my loins begins to moisten to a smoldering dampness that feels like a molten river beginning to swell in my throbbing cunt, held back barely, by the concerted effort of pressing my trembling thighs tightly together and holding on to the wooden seat-back in front of me. I was outwardly shaking and praying that all eyes were on the celebrant, leaving me to quietly wallow in the seductive torment of my oncoming orgasm.

"Why and how was this happening now?" I had ventured into this quiet realm to elude the prurient daydreams and nightmares that have been haunting my senses. The visions and the voices in my mind were anything but heavenly. Spectral voices murmured in my ears to "get undressed," or to "suck this," or even to "spread your ass cheeks for me." Thinking about changing diapers or washing dishes worked for about three seconds, then I imagined myself being asked to perform those functions while naked. I wasn't this kind of woman...not openly... not so lasciviously, why was I sinking into this chasm of depravity?

I was alert to the sudden buildup of the erotic pattern that flew through my arteries like a virus. I understood the biology of it, but I couldn't fathom the mechanics. In any serene setting I could instantly be consumed by these crudely exotic fantasies and my desperately horny body was helpless to resist these brazen urges. I wasn't overly religious but I felt that these forces were beyond this Earth, so I dutifully traipsed-off to mass, appealing for some spiritual guidance to comfort me. Instead; the darkness, the incense, the whispers and packed crowds drew my attention from the "good book" and to that nagging, insistent voice calling me to realize and to release my "inner slut." I was quickly building to a state of bliss, but the passion cascading over my slatternly body was a long step short of spiritual. My nerves were jittery as my body heat boiled and my pulse rate soared.

I was situated in the middle of a full pew inside of a jammed sanctuary. I am no stranger to masturbation and infact, I've been diddling my hungry cunt ever more frequently since this primal, compulsive craving has descended on me. But now, the lecherous pining begins without me. The quivering had no real origin but simply rattled me from my lips to my toes. Huge drops of perspiration began to drain from my scalp, underarms and pelvis. And that normally luxurious and hoped-for glow that usually atunes me to the sensual release that I've anxiously wished for, has become like a ticking bomb warning me that I have only seconds before an embarrassing and most-obvious depraved disaster awaits. I believed that if I attempted to slide behind the other parishioners and scurry up the main aisle towards the door, I wouldn't get fifteen feet before the dam burst in my fiery pussy and the warm sticky fluids began to seep down my thighs.

What if I were to just stealthily ease my hand against this man's crotch? Would he truly mind if- while we were all staring forward and looking appropriately enraptured- I quietly slid his zipper down and reached inside for his bulging cock? Or the lady to my left with the ample bosom and generous cleavage, do you think that while we sat and sang our sad devotionals, she would be upset if I cupped those hefty globes and playfully kneaded them like I was preparing dough for a fresh-baked pie? The man behind has his cock out and is pressing it against my neck, I need only to turn around and it could be in my mouth. "My Gawd, what's become of me?" I have to get out of here!

The mass was only in its middle and I was forced to wait it out. I pictured sands in a giant hourglass, dropping one lone crystal at a time. The sweat was leaking off of me like rainwater through a downspout. My heart was racing and I felt the pulse in my neck thumping. I wanted to just curl into a ball and hide. All of the standing, kneeling and swaying to the rhythms of the psalms were having an effect on my quavering form. It was as if I could sense my wet thighs sliding together or my big tits bouncing under my bra. With each movement, I felt my insides turning to jelly and when I rose from my seat, I was certain that it would let loose.

The up and down pattern of the service seemed to exacerbate the rapid, sloshing juices that were roiling between my hips. Rising to my feet was agonizing because I feared an unheard-of accident in such a pious setting and when allowed to sit, I did so gingerly since every motion nearly triggered this unholy impulse. I was compelled to lightly shift my weight from side to side while upright, and when seated, to always be balancing on one butt-cheek so as to not put any more pressure on my engorged clit. Fearing that at any moment I would crumple into a convulsive, fetal position and give-way to my sensual desires and fervor.

I nervously scanned my fellow congregants who were in various stages of devotion and spied the teary eyes or wistful smiles with just as many bowed heads and silently mumbled pleas to heaven. "Was I the only one there who was receiving lewd, sexually-demeaning images and envisioning my neighbors in various states of nudity?" These horrific thoughts and depictions had been swirling through my confused mind off and on for weeks; at traffic stops, in the grocery or the beauty salon, matched with that warm, sharp, prickly sensation that signaled my gathering sexual pleasure. I would almost scream-out to be pleasured and satisfied.

The bawdy images and lewd temptations wouldn't stop. Like a child who imagines that they have "X-ray vision," I glanced at the well-dressed man to my right and only saw his turgid organ swaying and swelling, tempting me to my knees and sucking its distended length. When I vigorously shake my head to clear my thoughts, I see the young woman beside me whose dress has dissolved into thin air and her pert tits and cleanly shaved pussy offer their erotic pleasures to my hunger. All around me, it's like being at an orgy and the swaying hands and whispered prayers are grasping and calling to my lonely body.

But there is one voice that overrides them all, and it is eerily familiar. It belongs to my eighteen-year-old son Robert, who has entrenched his Rasputin-like sexual influence on my submissive character. My name is Anna, I am not a well-educated woman but I can see what he has been doing and I am helpless to fight-off his exotic advances. I was raped when I was a teenager and so, I'm barely twice his age. Sexuality and open lewdness frightens- yet captivates me. Robert has recently discovered and pounced on this flaw in my development to be enticing and with his job at a sexual emporium, he has all of the material he needs to flaunt and entrap me.

Using just introductory psychology and some of the samples from his work, he has been taunting me with audacious offers and leaving gifts of explicit lingerie or adult toys on my bed or at the breakfast table. He places dirty movies on the recorder and when I won't agree to watch them alongside of him, he leaves them there, with their filthy cover pictures, daring me to not just peruse a few minutes of the perverted action. Hints and whispers about my buxom figure or suggestions that I'm growing older without ever having been young, have eaten away at my resolve. he has even inferred that incestual relations could be kept private and are all the more exciting do their explicit sexual appeal and their implicit lewdness. I know that I should have spanked him down when this all started but I didn't and now, as water gradually erodes rock, I have slowly begun to agree with his libidinous innuendos.

And it wasn't enough that he managed to gain an unfortunate upper hand in our seemingly-lecherous mom/son relation, he had begun to insinuate that he was the one who could rehabilitate my deeply-rooted sexual fears and encourage and incubate the passion and desires that stir within. In other words, it would be good for me and he would be doing me a favor. I understand how abnormal this sounds but when you are trapped in this impenetrable web, any helping hand- especially when no other helpful source appears- is the one you reach for.

The church service mercifully ended without my making a complete fool of myself, and while some concerned citizens noticing the sweat dripping from my forehead and the flushed cheeks, inquired if I were feeling alright, I was able to sluggishly duck-walk to my car and avoid any serious conversations. There is a small pond below a hillside in back of the church, where I was able to stop the car and hopefully relieve the stress of my condition. That voice- and all of it's erotic temptations- was always just beneath the surface. The perspiration had begun again in earnest. My dark hair was plastered to my head and the minimal makeup that I wear was streaked and smeared. The thin cottony peasant blouse was draped and glued to my upper body, clinging to my torso even with a slip and bra, and it blatantly outlined my full D-cups. The swollen pink nubs that crested my 36-inch chest were pronounced and sharply defined.

The summery skirt that felt so breezy when I left the house this morning, was like a horse-blanket now, trapping the heat between my thighs and causing a torrent of salty sweat to course down my legs and the smell of my arousal was unmistakable. The open-toed sandals that showed my painted-pink nails, felt too hot on my feet so I kicked them aside and lay across the bench seat with my knees bent, allowing whatever current of air coming through the window to sweep under my uplifted skirt and to cool the furnace between my soaked thighs. I was laying with my head against the driver's door and my bent legs on the seat, my pink feet were spread and resting on the opposite open window. I needed some relief, the pressure I felt was smothering.

Then I heard a voice in a low, husky tone, calling to me, seemingly from the backseat. "Anna, you little sex-slut. Take off your shirt and show me those big tits, then hop back here and suck my cock." I was startled and horror-struck.

In abject fear, I cringed on the seat. My entire body trembled and felt trapped. "Who is it, and what do you want?" I plaintively replied.

"You know who I am, and it's 'what you want' that we're talking about." The echoing voice was unmistakable. It was my son Robert, and he had followed me and even waited in the car to catch me. "C'mon now, get on your knees like a good whore and take my cock into your mouth. You know that you've been dreaming about it."

I sat up straight as if the seat had been electrified. Sweat poured from my quivering body and I almost screamed. But I peered over the front seat and found no one there. I was almost disappointed and even looked down at the carpeted floor searching for the disembodied voice. It was Robert's voice alright and it had followed me. But merely in my mind. His not-so-subtle persuasion had insinuated itself into my subconscious and the creepy, crude suggestions were rising dangerously close to my every waking breath. "My Gawd, why would I ever imagine that? I want to suck my son's cock... I mean my son wants me to suck his cock... I heard him say it... if he was here, I mean. Gawd, what's happening?"

I needed to lay back down and clear my head. "Think pleasant thoughts," I kept reminding myself and fanned my damp body. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and settled back on the seat, trying to remain still and hoping to remember any bit of the sermon that I'd just spent forty minutes with as background noise. Again, I lifted my knees and hiked-up my blouse, to allow as much cool air as possible, to filter over my panting, frantic anatomy. I could vaguely recall the paster in his lilting tone, bestowing his blessing on us and then droning on while I strained to hear more. Then he turned more serious and demanding, "Suck my cock you slut and spread your legs for me. I'm going to fuck your hot cunt and make you squeal like a farm animal." I bolted alert and looked all around. It was Robert. And he was here. But only in my head.

I laid back and felt my chest heaving and the moist, hot juices stirring in my twat. I wanted to shut out the noise but my tingling body was listening intently. My perky nipples were plump and poking through the thin material of my dress. My legs were shaking and felt loose like jelly. And my pussy was on fire. I closed my eyes but my right hand snaked down my dampened belly and beneath the folds of my dress. The palm of my right hand just touched the cottony fabric of my panties and I noticed that my essence had wicked into the dank material. I was sticky and the aroma of sex was overpowering. I slipped the sodden garment down my thighs, leaving a shiny, distinctive trace of my pussy juice and perspiration along both legs, and dropped it to the floor.

It was inevitable, the mysterious voice of my son whispered in my ear, to let my two fingers begin to circle the matted, black curls that topped my pubic mound. I could hear his deep bass tone telling me to rub my clit and prepare my yearning cunt for the impending explosion. He asked me if I could taste the salty substance of his cum, as I imagined his stiff cock thrusting inside of me. My fingers were jabbing at the labia, opening the delicate petals as if priming the pump for what I so richly hungered for. My lips were twisted in an oval shape as I visualized and practically sensed his huge organ entering my mouth. I was reflexively sucking and swallowing the unseen tool, feeling it's smooth dimensions while it plowed back and forth in my throat.

"C'mon mother, you know that you want it." I knew what this was leading to, and a cold shiver rippled my flesh. "Tell me how much you want to suck my cock and open your horny cunt to my throbbing prick." I was amazed and a bit scared of the graphic language that spawned the crude imagery. Robert- though he did drop sexual hints about my voluntary abstention- never spoke to me in these terms or with those disgusting phrases. So, why was I hearing it like this? Is this really what I wanted? Was I just using Robert as my crutch to mend my broken sensuality?

My fingers were a blur now, seesawing in and out of my lubricated cavern and my cheeks worked like a vacuum, inhaling the ghostly ramrod that stretched my lips. It was my son's cock. And I wanted it in my mouth, in my cunt and even if he had told me to turn over, I'd have taken it in my ass. I could see his swarthy complexion and feel his large hands squeezing my tits. His sinister- yet charismatic- smile hovered above my face as he kissed my neck and nibbled on my earlobes. "How would he know that I melt for that?" His 220lbs. were pressed powerfully but kindly, onto my squirming form and his stubby, thick cock was plowing my insides and reaching places that I've never known.

I called his name outloud when the last thunderous spasm produced the quaking climax that only he could bring out of me. My body shook and tremors rippled through my torso. My pelvis had been bouncing off the seat and now stiffened and flexed. The volcanic wetness drenched my thighs and coated the seat with my cream. I shrieked as the final few contractions jerked me to my senses. I lay on the dank bench in a puddle of my own fluids, marinating in sexual obscenity. In a stupor, I realized where I was and what I'd done. Gradually, I lifted my still-spinning head and carefully rose from my languid debauch. I rearranged my sweat-soaked clothing and wiped my face and swept a sticky hand through my dampened hair. I didn't wish to drive home looking like the last person to leave a gangbang. It was then that I noticed an older man just beyond the car's window, who had been walking a small dog, but had halted just long enough to be a voyeur to my solo performance.

When our eyes met, we both did a comic double-take. I was instantly mortified and he seemed atleast, to be ashamed for having observed me in such an illicit condition. For a brief moment, I entertained the notion that he hadn't actually seen me naked and also that he didn't recognize me. From his leering glance and the trace of drool running down his chin, I knew that my first hope was dashed but he apparently wasn't a neighbor, thank the lord. I quickly put the car in gear and got out of there. My heart was pumping hard again and that mysterious tingle was forming all over again, in my sticky cunt.

I stopped the car before entering the highway and glanced in the mirror. The face staring back at me was somebody new. I heard my son's voice again, so distinctly and so loud that I looked once more in the back seat, before I was satisfied that I was indeed alone. He was talking to me. "You liked that, didn't you? Showing your lusty cunt and fingering your clit infront of strangers? It turned you on to act like a slut and play with that horny hole. You don't care what you have to do to get off, do you?" I shook my head uncertainly and whispered that I'm not a slut. I assured anyone that could hear me, that those dirty thoughts had never entered my mind. But ofcourse, those plaintive defenses only echoed in my empty vehicle.

"Face it," Robert's harangue continued, "It's exciting to have forbidden, taboo sex if nobody gets hurt and nobody finds out. And it can only get better, if you just open-up to your naughty desires." I was feeling the fever again and I knew by those spasms starting to flutter in my belly, that my pussy was listening appreciatively. "You want it. And you know how to find it. Just drive home and listen to me." I was shaking now, but not from any negative impulse. I could feel the pressure building in my aching cunt. I had never climaxed twice in a row. And never played with my pussy in the open air. But I was seeing his lecherous smile and I could practically feel his hard cock at the steamy entrance to my moistened snatch. "Do it," he commanded me. "Play with your pussy again, you know you'll never last like this. Tickle that plump clit and let the juices flow. You're so fuckin' horny now, you know that you're going to go home and fuck your son. Do it, rub your clit and set yourself free."

I glanced at my reflection once more and that slut in the glass just winked at me and offered a sinful, libidinous smirk. I lost track of where I was or what I was doing. Nothing mattered anymore. I felt like I was riding a wild horse and my insides were shaking loose. My hand crept beneath my skirt and I was surprised to feel the wiry curls of my pubic mound matted from my own sticky fluids. I had forgotten that I jettisoned my undies before my last masturbatory exercise. There was nothing now to hinder me, as my fingers circled the swollen lump of reddened flesh, bringing my explosion to the boiling point. It was only a second more, that the jolt hit me like I had stuck a finger into a live socket. As the shock wave traveled up my spine and through my every nerve ending, two fingers swirled a distinctive pattern just inside and under the roof of my spurting cunt. My entire frame quivered and I could hear myself moaning, gasping and uttering strange oaths to all points in heaven.